


Christmas in June

by remedialpotions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Half Blood Prince Missing Moment, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remedialpotions/pseuds/remedialpotions
Summary: It’s the final week of the trio's sixth year at Hogwarts, and when it comes to Hermione, Ron feels he has a lot to make up for.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 20





	Christmas in June

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the 2017 Romione Secret Santa gift exchange on Tumblr.

Ron shook his head to get his sweaty fringe out of his eyes; even for June, it was bloody hot. The darkness and the heat in the tunnel were almost suffocating - he had but the feeble light of his wand to guide him - but the winding path had turned into a steep stone staircase, so he was sure that the end was near. Which was a good thing, anyway. He'd been walking for what had to be a good thirty minutes, his only decent shirt was soaked through, and at some point, Harry would notice that his Invisibility Cloak had gone missing.

Well, maybe. Ron never expected to actually think this, but there were some fringe benefits to Harry dating his sister, the main one being that Harry had achieved new levels of obliviousness. During breakfast, he and Ginny had said something about going for a walk that afternoon, and while Ron had dated Lavender long enough to know that a walk around the Hogwarts grounds usually entailed lots of snogging and very little actual walking, he had actually been happy to hear it. After declining Hermione's invitation to join her in the library, he had promptly hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, nicked the Marauder's Map and the Cloak from Harry's trunk, and set out for the passageway into Honeydukes.

And if the growing aroma of chocolate and caramel was anything to go by, he was nearly there. Holding his wand aloft, he spotted a trapdoor in the low ceiling and tentatively pushed on it with his free hand. It gave way, the sugary scent of the shop now overwhelming his senses, and with a thrill of victory, he shifted the wooden board so that a strong beam of summer sunlight shone down upon him. Excited, he slid his wand into the back pocket of his trousers, tossed the Cloak over his head, and hauled himself up into the stockroom.

Truth be told, this wasn't actually his final destination, but as he crept soundlessly up the stairs into the shop, he determined that a quick look around couldn't hurt, especially with the added protection of the Cloak. Who knew when he'd be back here, anyway.

The shop was quiet, nothing like days gone by when he'd be shoulder-to-shoulder with every other kid who went to Hogwarts, but Ron reckoned that Hogsmeade was going the same way as Diagon Alley: people just didn't venture out anymore if they didn't absolutely have to. Hell, McGonagall would have his head if she knew he had come here, and his mum would probably put her second-year Howler to shame, but he knew, as he eyed the Sugar Quills, that it would all be worth it.

Ahh, Sugar Quills. He could picture her now, Hermione, her fingers twisting up her unruly hair as she concentrated, the very end of a strawberries-and-cream quill between her lips, her tongue darting out to taste it… but a smile crept over his face, because he also knew her, and he could almost hear her admonishing voice in his head: _Those are pure sugar, Ron, they're awful for your teeth, you're going to get about a dozen cavities_ \- yes, she would definitely disapprove. And even with the way things were going, with Ron feeling less and less sure that he would live to see his eighteenth birthday (an occupational hazard of friendship with Harry Potter), and even knowing that life was too short not to have what you wanted… this was still a gift for her, not him.

No matter how much he wanted to witness them in use.

With one last longing look at the display of Chocolate Frogs (he had not a Sickle to spare, he reminded himself), he slipped through the door behind another patron and headed down the lane toward Scrivenshaft's.

•••

If only Ginny wasn't such a good student. She was a bit more sane about her OWLs than Hermione, but every time she went off to study, it meant she wasn't spending her time with Harry - though Ron reckoned that Harry was so enamored with her that he'd probably gladly sit and watch her read - which meant that Harry ended up with Ron. And all Ron wanted, really, was ten minutes alone with Hermione before the school year ended. Her gift was tucked safely away in his trunk, but he was starting to feel like he might have to wait until she came to the Burrow for Bill's wedding to give it to her. As it was, he'd only seen her for about ten seconds today before she had sped off to the library, intent on learning more about whoever Eileen Prince was, and not a minute after that, Harry had been summoned to Dumbledore's office.

Now alone in the common room, Ron dug through his rucksack, coming up with a well-worn hardcover book. The twins had owled it to him sometime last month to congratulate him on his first breakup, though he hadn't had time yet to read it between Quidditch and prefect duties and sneaking into Hogsmeade. _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ , it read in shiny embossed script on the cover. _Merlin_. Did they think he was completely hopeless?

Well, they probably weren't wrong, in any case, so he cracked open the front cover and had just begun the chapter on compliments when the portrait hole swung open again. To his surprise, he spotted a head of bushy hair over the back of the sofa and felt his stomach flip over. If she saw him reading this book, of all the books he could have chosen… he couldn't bear to think about it, she'd think he was nothing more than a randy git-

"What happened to Eileen Prince?" he called as he snatched up his bag and attempted to cram the book into its depths. Of course. Of all times for the zipper to get stuck on this stupid, ancient rucksack that probably should have gone in the bin years ago, it had chosen now, when the book was just barely wedged in, and Ron felt himself start to sweat-

"Oh, Madam Pince wouldn't even let me into the library," said Hermione grumpily as she crossed the room. Ron's heart began to pound as he gave a yank on the zipper, which tore the thing clean off but opened the bag enough to allow the book inside. "She said it's nearly curfew and she doesn't care that I'm a prefect, it's still too dangerous to be walking around by myself at night and-" Her eyes fell on the corner of the book still showing out of his bag. "What is that?"

Try as he might, he couldn't stop his face from flushing. "Er, just something the twins gave me."

"Hmm." Hermione, looking skeptical, sat down beside him on the sofa - so close, in fact, that their legs almost touched. "Where's Harry?"

"He left right after you did. Dumbledore," Ron added in explanation.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Do you suppose he found a-"

"I don't know," said Ron with a little shake of his head. "It didn't say. But… it would have to be, right?"

The thought of finding a bit of Voldemort's soul, a piece that he'd put into something so that he would never truly die, made Ron's skin crawl in a way nothing else ever had. And looking at Hermione, at the apprehension on her face and her lower lip between her teeth, he knew she felt the same way.

"Anyway," Ron said, coming back to himself a bit and deciding to seize the opportunity before him, "stay right here. I'll be right back."

While Hermione watched, perplexed, he picked up his broken rucksack and hurried to the stairs up to the boys' dormitory, taking them two at a time in his haste. The last thing he needed was a bunch of first-years intruding on his first instance of time alone with Hermione in days. He stowed the twins' book in his trunk and withdrew a long, slim black box tied with a gold ribbon, which thankfully looked only minimally crumpled. With the box behind his back and anxiety creeping into his nerves, he returned to the common room, where Hermione looked more befuddled than before.

"So," Ron began, still hiding the box as he sat back down on the sofa (and this time, their thighs did touch), "I know this is about six months late, but as you seemed to hate me when it was actually Christmas-"

"I never hated you-" Hermione interjected, her voice gentle.

"I was sort of a git," Ron continued on, forcing himself to stay calm, "and I - I don't know, I wanted to make up for that a bit, so-" He thrust the box onto her lap. "That's for you. Happy Christmas."

Hermione stared down at the box, jaw slightly agape, and then up at Ron. "You've gotten me a Christmas gift?"

"Er - yeah. I have," he confirmed, anxiously rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I know it's sort of stupid-"

"No, no, it isn't," insisted Hermione, eyes wide, "but I haven't gotten you anything-"

"You don't have to," he said quickly. "Honestly, I was the one who - well. Anyway, go on, open it."

"What did Lavender get you?" asked Hermione, her head cocked to the side in curiosity.

"Nothing," replied Ron, just a little too quickly.

"She must have gotten you something-"

"Would you open that already?!" Ron demanded, his cheeks burning as Hermione laughed.

"Not until you tell me-"

"Then you don't get a present," Ron determined, moving to grab the box back from her - but she was quick, leaning away from him, her back flush against the sofa cushions, and holding it above her head, out of his reach.

Or so she thought: Ron lunged for it, realizing a millisecond too late that this meant he'd be on top of her, face to face, their bodies aligned, and as he landed on her, their eyes met, and hers… showed no hesitation at all.

He could do it. He could really do it, she was just inches away, it would be nothing to let his head drop down and touch his lips to hers… but actually, it wouldn't be nothing, it would be everything, and what if he was wrong? What if she hated it and smacked him one in the teeth? He had only just gotten her back as a friend, and couldn't that be enough, at least for now? Maybe once he'd finished that bloody book, and he knew how to treat her like she deserved, and show her what she meant to him, and he could actually be a decent boyfriend, then maybe… maybe.

"All right, fine," said Ron, planting a hand on the arm of the sofa so he could haul himself off of her. Hermione sat up, adjusting her robes back into place. "She got me…" He broke off; the thought of speaking the words 'gold necklace' and 'My Sweetheart' to a very disheveled and flustered Hermione was making him nauseated. "She got me something that showed she didn't know me at all, and that…"

"That what?" Her words were barely a whisper.

"That I should have gone to that Christmas party with you."

They hadn't discussed it at all, really, since he woke up in the hospital wing to find her at his bedside, mainly because he hadn't wanted to remind her of how he had acted last autumn, but it was true all the same. There were a million things in his life he would change if he could, but the way he had treated Hermione back then was first on his list.

"If it's any consolation," Hermione said in a lightly quavering voice, "you didn't miss much."

"Yeah, I did."

Because he could see it all so clearly now, and he'd been so stupid. If only he had actually agreed to go with her that day in Herbology, if only he had been able to drop his jealousy over whatever happened with Viktor Krum during their fourth year, it all could have been so different. He might have worked up the courage to kiss her at the party, they might even be together now… at the very least, he would have given her a Christmas gift when it was actually Christmas.

"So…" Hermione let out a sharp breath and cracked a smile. "So what did you get me?"

"Open it and find out," Ron said, grateful for the break in the tension. "Honestly, it's nothing much, but-"

"Oh, stop, I'm sure I'll love it."

Hermione untied the bow and slowly pulled the lid off of the box to reveal an eagle-feather quill and a small bottle of black ink.

"It's self-inking," Ron found himself saying as her brown eyes gradually widened, "because I know you get all bent out of shape when you're trying to do your revising and you have to keep going back for more, so this way, it'll just draw from that bottle-"

He could say no more: her arms had encircled his neck and suddenly his nose was flooded with the scent of her hair, and he completely lost track of what he was trying to say. Not that it mattered anyway. From the way she was clinging to him, it was clear he had said more than enough.

"Thank you," she said, pulling away but still keeping her hands resting on his shoulders.

"It's just a quill," he responded weakly, trying to keep his voice steady.

"No, it isn't." Her face drew closer, and her lips landed lightly on his cheek; the sound seemed to echo through the otherwise silent common room. "You're the best, Ron."

"Yeah, again, I don't know about that," he said, trying to infuse some brevity into the conversation, trying to distract himself from the way her tongue had just slid along her bottom lip, trying desperately not to think about what that lip would feel like on his, what she might taste like-

"Well, I do." Her hands were still on his shoulders. "And I'm not usually wrong."

A thought dawned on him that made adrenaline flood his veins: what if she wanted him to kiss her, right now? He really couldn't think of a better moment, Harry would surely be gone for hours and Hermione did seem rather fond of him at the moment… and life, as he had learned over the past few years, was strange and unpredictable and way too short. If he wanted to kiss her, shouldn't he do it now while he had the chance, while she was looking at him like he had hung the moon? He was sick of screwing things up with her, of saying the wrong thing, of not acting on an opportunity… and was it his imagination, or had her face tilted up just the slightest bit? God, why had it been so easy to snog Lavender in a room full of people, yet he couldn't make himself move when it came to someone that he actually-

With a great creaking of hinges, the portrait hole opened up again, and Hermione drew her arms away from Ron so quickly it was like he had burned her. For a split second, he was ready to hex whoever had the bullocks to walk into the common room, but then he saw Harry's wild mop of black hair, and his stomach plummeted. He barely had to look at his best friend to know something was seriously amiss, and he watched in horror as Harry bolted to the dormitory stairs, all but ignoring Hermione's anxious questions.

As Harry's footsteps faded away, Ron glanced over to see Hermione tucking the quill and ink into her book bag, and steeled himself. Whatever news Harry was about to have, it wasn't going to be good, but it had to be the priority now.

No, Ron wasn't going to have what he wanted, not yet, but if he ever did… she would be worth the wait.


End file.
